My gut tenses on what she's to hate next.
Say next.
What else have I fallen short on today.
I scramble to clean my mess.
And on principal alone, leave hers, because it would be clean already
Had she not screamed at me the day before about all this.
Her words echo and linger for days upon,
As each understanding takes different shifts and processing
To find the sight I may call the light.
Now,
Everywhere I turn,
I see her hate,
And what she could say...
Because yes...I have heard it before..
So don't take so much pride in not standing original...
Because my demons I have fought and finally laid down to being controlled by--
Why in the world would I let you chain me to them?!
It is nothing I haven't heard, but I listen.
Sometimes even letting you surprise me...
But when I speak, you hear not,
And when I utter, you seek to shut it up...
So have you?!
But that?!
Who I am is not whom she loved,
But that only in bits and pieces...
Not entire aspects.
Her face today I saw,
In a snapshot from our love,
And I am glad we loved.
But inside,
My chest burns with ache,
At the torment
Of it all.
The words and how they sink in,
Sharper than blades and guns, because maybe then,
I would rather...
Then again,
Maybe not.
Daggers.
They are simply like daggers,
Drawing a very
Real blood.
...so I bleed a little
Pick my self up.
Process the fear, the panic,
Because I'm past trying to make her see..
Now...
It's just survival.
And accepting the challenges
As my mighty opportunities..
Because out of this, there is so much I see...
And I've already begun,
To find
Her again.
Deep down:
The light that has been so shadowed-
She is strong,
And bright...
And she has taken on many o' these fights
Learning to slowing be
Un-abashed by the wicked
Unoriginality.
It is not brave to hurt.
As it is the strong who often appear to be the most weak.
Love is not weak.
And it will never
Ever
Be.
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